Breathing Again, and Maybe a Little Drooling
by Miss Mudblood
Summary: Stiles has a panic attack, and a certain sourwolf is there to help him through it. Derek/Stiles, mild slash.


This is my first venture into the Teen Wolf fandom, and I couldn't help but love the Sterek pairing. Very mild slash and a surprisingly comforting Derek. I couldn't resist the pull of the plot bunny. Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy, and please review!

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I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters. Just playing in Jeff Davis's sandbox.

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Stiles knew it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of time until his dad realized how far Stiles had fallen. He'd gone from a hyperactive kid with a motormouth but decidedly awesome grades to a lying teenager with a restraining order who stole police vehicles. Really, Stiles knew that he'd done some bad things in the last few months. He couldn't help that his best friend since kindergarten had gotten bitten by a werewolf and that said bite had made Stiles' life infinitely more difficult. He used to be worried about getting Lydia Martin to look in his direction for once, and now he was trying to keep everyone he loved from dying a premature and painful death by were-lizard. He had to lie to his dad. It was to keep him safe. Stiles never wanted their relationship to break as much as it did. And he sure as hell never meant to get him fired.

So when his dad started yelling at him, it was expected. It was warranted. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. The words were piercing and full of pain. The sheriff had been drinking, and the liquid sloshed around in the bottle in his hand as the words tore from his mouth. Stiles stood and listened, hanging his head and blinking back tears. Finally, the words slowed and Stiles stayed silent. There was nothing to say that could fix this.

Later, as Stiles finally made it back to his room and closed the door quietly behind him, he could feel his breath shortening. Sliding down to the floor with his back against the wall, the teenager tried to inhale deeply and found his chest tightening. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, willing himself to get past this. Now wasn't the time to have a panic attack. He hadn't had a serious incident since the months after his mom died, and he wasn't keen on them returning. His hands were shaking and he could feel the sweat forming on his brow. Stiles considered calling for his dad, but he knew the man was probably fast asleep on the couch, and Stiles couldn't even manage the breath to try and yell for him. The room was suddenly ten degrees colder, and the shaking in his hands was steadily increasing.

His throat felt dry as he sucked in a breath and the seconds dragged. In the back of his mind Stiles knew it would pass eventually. But they weren't usually this severe. He childishly wished his mom were here to get him through this. She would know what to do. She always knew what to do.

He suddenly felt an arm around his shoulders and a warm hand covering his. A voice registered in Stiles' ears, but he could barely understand it. It sounded distant, muffled. He tried to focus on the feeling of someone touching him, bringing him back. His breathing eventually slowed as the arm rubbed his shoulder soothingly. The tremors in his hands became less prevalent. He turned toward the warm body next to his and put his head on their shoulder. His breathing was nearly back to normal when he could finally understand the voice. "Stiles," it murmured calmly, gently, "Calm down. You're okay. You're fine. Just breathe." The hand squeezed his once. Stiles sniffled, just then noticing the tears trailing down his face and onto the shirt of his visitor.

Once he had calmed down enough for his brain to catch up, Stiles recognized the person who was holding him together. He looked up at the concerned gaze on Derek Hale's face. Stiles could feel his heartbeat quicken and was captivated by how different Derek looked. The alpha werewolf was usually brooding, scowling, or frowning. But now he looked like he wanted nothing more than to make sure Stiles was okay. Derek had brought Stiles back from a panic attack. This was a gigantic improvement from being shoved into walls all the time. Stiles smiled, face flushing the smallest bit. "Thank you," he said quietly, still not removing himself from Derek's grasp.

Derek didn't reply for a while, and Stiles began to worry that Derek was regretting helping him. Stiles started to pull his hand away when Derek grasped it back firmly, not letting him go. "Your dad loves you, you know. Nothing is going to change that," he said quietly, trying to catch Stiles' gaze.

Stiles intertwined his fingers in Derek's and kept his eyes fixed on their joined hands. "I know," he began, taking a breath. "But it's still hard to see him like this. Hurting. Because of me."

Derek tightened his hold on Stiles' shoulder and Stiles looked up at him. "I'm sorry," Derek said sincerely. Stiles couldn't read his expression. It looked sympathetic, but there was something else there, just under the surface, that he wasn't quite able to name.

Stiles was suddenly hyper-aware of how Derek was holding him, how intimate it was. He felt the blush creeping over his cheeks and he didn't know how to act. He abruptly realized just how nice it was to be comforted by Derek, to be the object of his attention for something other than threats.

Stiles tried not to do something stupid, like run away before he could admit that he kind of loved this feeling, and how he might want it to continue at regular intervals.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as Derek spoke again. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes flickering over Stiles' body as if making sure he still was in one piece.

"Yeah, I'm fine. This used to happen a lot, actually. But it's been a while. I- thought they were gone for good," Stiles replied sheepishly.

The two of them stayed still, breathing nearly in sync and hands intertwined. Stiles put his head back on Derek's shoulder and realized how warm the older man's body was. It was a nice feeling and Stiles felt his eyes slowly drooping. "Stay," he told Derek in a whisper. He felt Derek's head settle on top of his and took that as an agreement. Curling his legs up and letting them brush alongside Derek's, Stiles closed his eyes and let himself drift to sleep.

And when he awoke hours later with a horrible backache from sleeping against a wall and drool all over his chin, it was worth it when he felt a warm werewolf still nuzzled against his side.


End file.
